Dunja Bahtijarevic 
Translator

on Lyrikline: 1 poems translated

from: croatian to: english

Original

Translation

NITKO NA TAVANU

croatian | Marko Pogačar

Nikog nema na tavanu
     znam to
jer je iznad nas užareni betonski krov,
srebrni nosač neba,
i uopće nemamo tavana.
toliko je stvari
koje praktično definiraju odsustvo.
   tavana.
  kuće.
   svijeta.
sobom se rasipa plitki pospani zvuk
kao da su se na tavan uvukli puhovi, ali,
           već sam rekao,
nema tavana.  
više nam ne preostaje obala. čvrste točke su
predale svoje zidove.
 sutra ću obaviti tristo
odgođenih telefonskih poziva,
    već dugo ne mogu
podnijeti verbalnu bliskost.
počeo sam po četvrti put
gledati Fitzcarraldo. tu sam naučio kako
se brodovi mogu prenijeti preko brda
i kako nije nužno biti pobijeđen  
      da bi se osjećao loše,
                     štoviše,
kišni dani govore
    obrnuto.
Kinski je, čini se, najbolji.
   role s Jaggerom govore slomljenim jezikom.
nema razloga za tišinu
i nikoga ne treba kriviti:
poštu ne dobivam, reklame me ne zaobilaze,
      (kapital je noćna
   kapa za mirisnu
                kosu svijeta)   
kava nikada nije dovoljno vruća,
kao ni informacije, nikada dovoljno novih ploča
i nikad dovoljno šuštavih klasika
    sve je gigantska,
mlaka lokva tjeskobe.
stvari definirane odsustvom me uglavnom plaše.
na primjer  samoća (uvjetno),
      religija (i njeno grozno odsustvo drugog)
smrt (bezuvjetno) i sve
što bih mogao iz njih izvući je trenutna ljubav,
značenje nanizano na kišu,     
   kap
koja fizički prelije čašu.
nikog nema na tavanu.
nikada nikog
         nije bilo na tavanu.
ne postoji tavan i sve obješeno
nad našim glavama je golemo zvjezdano njihalo,
kolijevka glazbe, tamna
    plahta neba kojom se
pokrivam svake noći dok spavam.

© Marko Pogačar
from: Poslanice običnim ljudima
Zagreb: Algoritam, 2007
Audio production: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin 2010

NOBODY IN THE ATTIC

english

There is nobody in the attic
     I know
for above us is a red-hot concrete roof,
a silver support for the sky,
and we don't have an attic at all.
there are so many things
that practically define absence.
    of the attic
   the house
    the world.
the room is strewn with a low and sleepy sound
as if dormice sneaked into the attic, however,
          I already said,
there is no attic.
the coast remains no more. the stable spots have
surrendered their walls.
tomorrow I’ll make three hundred
postponed telephone calls,
     it’s been a while since I
could stand verbal closeness.
for the fourth time I started
watching Fitzcarraldo. there I have learned
that ships can be carried across hills
and that it’s not necessary to be defeated
       in order to feel bad,
                   in fact,
rainy days say
     the opposite.
Kinski is the best, it seems.
    reels with Jagger speak in broken tongues.
there is no reason for silence
and nobody should be blamed:
I don’t get mail, commercials don’t avoid me,
        (capital is a night-
    hat for the scented
                  hair of the world)
coffee is never hot enough,
neither is information, there is never enough new records
and never enough rustling classics
     all is a gigantic
tepid puddle of anxiety.
things defined by absence mostly scare me.
for example  loneliness (conditionally)
        religion (and its horrid absence of the other)
death (unconditionally) and all
I could draw from them is momentary love,
meaning thread on rain,
    the drop
that makes the glass overflow.
there is nobody in the attic.
there never has been
         anybody in the attic.
there is no attic and everything hung
above our heads is a massive star-lit pendulum,
a cradle of music, a dark
     sheet of sky with which I
cover myself every night when I sleep.

Translated by Dunja Bahtijarevic